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20210611

What’s the point in getting organised behind a cause?

Certain medias have appeal. The medium of the film has an aura and calls for a particular type of participation. There is a special moment when stuff happens, when shit gets real. Some people are in it for that, just that. There are professionals whose sole trade is to get real on cue. The medium gives a sublime direction for the event. Same with visual art. It dependents on an opening, on the exhibition. Books need reviews (which serve as proof that a thing has been read, processed as intended). Arts echo causality – Their future is authored by their form. They call for the the audience to perform a ritual of participation to become.

Covid-time has pulled a focus to the bare-bones of this agreement. Art which depends on an audience has been revealed to be a cohabitated worksite: Observing art is a demanding and dangerous labour effort (rewarding too!). Participating in an artwork is honest work. If you are not getting paid – You are the product.

People have been busy surviving.

Art institutions don’t understand what it means to survive. They are stuck on preserving and content in preserving the dead. Art is revealed to be a luxury. This time around, this old revelation showed how much this luxury burdens the living. Imagine: Some museums kept their doors open to show art made by the dead. This is great, don’t you think? Museums are macabre and remain blind to their morbid performance. There is nothing more gruesome than a peppy museum or theatre Instagram post from the Autumn of 2020. They sincerely asked a dying population to appreciate art. There is beauty in this, like there is beauty watching the world burn. In Finland theatres were subsidized by the government for loosing their audiences… And because they didn’t have any production costs, they made profits from the pandemic!

The weight of this luxury has been felt. But there is hope still: There are cultures for culture, which refuse to be defined by a performance. There exists art which does not call for an audience.

We have all become performance artists, because we are bombarded by performances: The pose of the zoom-meeting, mask-or-no masks in public-space show, handwashing on entry and the plethora of other choreographies, which have been authored by the middle-class managerial clergy.

Read more on covid-managerialism: The Middle-Class Leviathan: Corona, the “Fascism” Blackmail, and the Defeat of the Working Class (2020) Elena Lange & Joshua Pickett-Depaolis. And have a listen at Top 5 Fetishes ft. Elena Louisa Lange (2021) Aufhebunga Bunga -podcast.

I think this bombardment of daily performances has shifted the art in performance. It is now focused on something else than an exact moment of execution (or even unfocused).

Performance art was well equipped for this change: Previously durational performance was a method for evading pinned moments. Durational performances represented a way to steer away from the object-like quality of a show – It was about a presence, not the act. Availability of documentation media and affordable media copying tools changed this. A week-long performance became a photo, a year-long show became a video and a career became a book.

But I believe that the non-object hood of the performance is making a comeback. Everyone has had to perform, institutions have been desperate to reach their audiences and now everybody is exhausted. Trying to survive and exhausted! The last thing people need is to get pinned into a moment, to be tasked to make sense of an artwork. The best thing art has to offer is not giving a fuck about the audience. At least, this is the best care I have to offer for you right now.

This is also why radio is so appealing! It exists, there is a broadcast and you can tune in but you are not locked or commissioned to work for it – I won’t even notice that you are here. Performance art is great: I sincerely don’t give a fuck about the audience, yet I’m here.. Doing my shit and you are free to do what the fuck you want. Have a great day!

burn.pixelache.ac/

I will wear fancy headphones to listen to recent ambient releases, which have been shared on a popular music forum. I will serve as a conduit and transmit ambient soundscapes by humming them out loud. Maybe I’ll dance a little, wiggle my hands in the sun. If everything goes well you won’t even notice there is a performance going on. Just noises of someone singing along to what they are listening to.

10.-11.6.2021, 10:00-18:00. Töölönlahti/Oodi, Helsinki

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20210225

They, a recovering survivalist with limited means, were halted at the border control and tasked to polish their gems for an inspection. Being smart about it they had already disposed, or digested rather the stolen ones before entry and yielded only proper fossils on their wrists. There might have been some crumbs left from the stolen ones but not enough to reveal whose they were. Fake skin bubbles in metal crusts flew past at astonishing speeds and the border officer would have had to shout into the noise to be heard. Not that it mattered, they knew the questions and how to answer, or deliver rather and begun the recitation.

– “All stones are of the same age”. They started.
– “All stones are of the same age, to you” the officer replied in a shallow exhale.
– “Back way back when, when folk still dusted cow brain peels with silver and children sat in silence watching light pass them. A promise was made that a figure would appear which would lead us to a glorious death. I’m a bearer of the peels and the glues.” They handed in their documents and took a step back.
– “I’m a bearer of the peels and the glues, to you” the inspector murmured and performed the stamps.

Both were pleased that the ceremony went easy and so they continued to the queue, waited for their tools and then headed to the antibiotic hills. The work was hard, as expected and drilling took its toll. They proceeded mining through rubble and junk, passing layers of old newspapers but were wise enough not to waste time reading any. Remembering what Outi Heiskanen had told them, that text is not supposed to be read. It is meant to line the edges of the pit, so that it does not cave in.

A gem, which at night returned to them by means of interior circulation, reminded them of a happy summer night. After a glass of wine Heiskanen had asked out loud “Tell me, how do you build a house?”. They remembered replying something, knowing it was irrelevant as Heiskanen knew the only answer: “You start digging… In a day or two a man comes by and they will tell you that you are not doing it right. Then quickly, challenge them and hand them your tools. Go to lunch and wait for the house to be completed. Like this, have a look“.

They had studied the material but doubted that they were building a house now. If they were, the shape of the construction was such that nothing imaginable could survive in it. Unfortunately for them, they were working too close to the shape to see that it was inverted. If they had taken a step back, they would have observed that their efforts were producing a quarry which would eventually serve as a casting mold of the Pori bridge. But they were too concentrated on finding tiny antibiotic particles. The medicine was contained in the droppings of privileged pets of the past. Beasts which had been medicated by high tier professionals of glory days. If the blue rim, surrounding a pile were to be scraped off successfully and digested, it could heal them.

They spend their days working and nights waiting to work. Genuine starlight blessed them trough the ceiling wrinkles of the bubble dome shelter. Having spend two cold days in the pit they spotted the hardend remains of a past miner and a shameless exploration of their dried out dun led to an astonishing discovery. To everyone’s surprise they had breached into a sediment where antibiotics could also be found in the droppings of pet owners! And so they began to scrape around the remains, expecting a glimmering blue rim to appear. They were not discouraged by the sulphuric fumes. Amongst their kin, outlining corpses with furious labor efforts was the highest sign of respect. This kept them working diligently and to top it all, if they had understood Heiskanen correctly, their life would get better soon.

They is Ore.e Refineries (est. 2007) and they offer mineral water made from quarry graffiti (2021). This text is available as a vector-graphic.

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20210224

If I were an unpublishable text I would feel as irrelevant as I feel thinking myself as a god.

I once took part in a communion at a church next to the rail-tracks. The priest, who was one of the first female priests in Helsinki offered us white cookies and wine. I thought it went well, felt serious and fancy. Everyone was silent. As we were walking back to school, Eeva looked me at awe and asked where I got the courage to act as I did. I didn’t understand what she was speaking about but took it as a compliment. It turned out I wasn’t supposed to pick the cookies from the priest plate myself nor to pour my own wine. I was supposed to wait for the offering. My ignorance was interpreted as arrogance and lovingly believed to be a critique. There was some unspoken shame in not knowing how to behave. I believe I was helping myself so that the priest would not feel embarrassed serving me.

Later on in life, this moment gave me some strength in believing I was closer to a pagan than a christian. And yes, I know most christians cherish this believe.

Right now, learning writing feels like praying. A supervisor, peaking amongst a grid of faces, has tasked me to recite prayers for a rational I don’t believe in. The rational I’m tasked to summon is wrapped in a veil of feels. It always is. I’ve performed these rites many times. Bowing, nodding silently, pounding the keys. I’m a good servant, I consider myself clergy even. Obedience should feel comfortable. Thinking optimistically, the irritation I feel is a result of me being confronted with the hollowness of the tone I use. But I’m bored calling for a sense or logic to appear in my own noise. Today inventing stuff makes me feel lonely.

Tomorrow I only want to read the english of non-native speakers. The rest of the lot are cheats. The clergy is not needed now. They need folk at the stables, shovelling wet hey. Why am I so provoked by this all now? Its guilt. Must be. I should be earning money but my hands are tied.

I’m dying to tell you that I have been tasked to write about my mothers dog. It stays with us when she is in treatments. To pray for the beast, can you imagine!

I hate the dog sometimes. I like that the kids like it. It looks at me lovingly and when it pleases me, I look at it that way too. I shout at it to be silent and yank its leach when it goes the wrong way. I have hurt it too. It’s my mothers dog, so it barks at strangers and I don’t know what to do with it. If it were mine it would know better: Wait for them to get close, then bite.

We’ve developed clever routines. When it’s dark enough I open the front door and it rushes to a forest for it’s business. It stays there longer then I want to and goes so deep into the bush that I don’t see it. The only reason I don’t shout after it, is because the site is public and I want to appear cool. Neighbours in the block see us at times. They know I let the a dog out without a leach. “Introducing Berlin dog culture to Käpylä” I say jokingly. Ashamed of being caught but sincere as well.

Sometimes, when it gets darker still I take it for a long walk around the district without a leech. I wouldn’t dear taking an animal I love so close to busy streets uncontrolled. The hate I feel for it offers it liberties I don’t see other dogs having.

There aren’t many things I can confess hating. But hating an animal is accepted because it is a token of a relationship. The dog takes in my hate and uses it to venture deeper into the woods. Eventually it will leave me and I’ll feel free.

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20201123

Popular ecologically geared art in Finland (art which aspired to advance global ecological sustainability) of the early 2000 was founded on the premise that if people would be made aware of their personal impact on the environment, they would automatically rectify their behavior. This dream lives on in apps which measure domestic power consumption and personal carbon admissions. These dreams build on a belief that when rich people (people who are responsible for the ecological collapse) are made to see the scale of resources their lifestyles depend on, they will seize their harmful activity and better themselves.

It feels evident that representations or even direct depictions of suffering rich people cause, are not enough for stirring up a desire for personal change. (Or that that personal changes are not effective) Which is why the current grant scheme is that audiences have to be trained how to relate, experience and to feel their impact on others. Feeling the suffering of others is expected lead them to adjust their behavior accordingly. In other words artists are aiming to affect change by re-working on their audiences skills in empathy.

Both approaches assume that humans are benign or rational, and that catastrophes are a result of a lack of knowledge or a lack of empathic skills. I think we should develop approaches which are based on the assumption that people harm others intentionally and enjoy doing it. It should be argued that western lifestyles are a death cult and people desire death. This does not mean that they want to die, but it seems they need to be in its proximity for stuff to make sense. There exists an addiction to blood.

Both approaches deploy sneaky pedagogy. The audiences curiosity towards arts and artists is used as a vessel for infusing them with knowledges which alter their behavior. Early ecologically geared art in Finland attempted to shock audiences back on a track of rationality. (Wake up! To the suffering eating meat causes!) Later ecologically geared art seduces and allures audiences to modify their emotional responses and behavior. (What is this think with sleepy metaphors? Whats the deal with people being simultaneously woken and shamed for not dreaming of anew?) These changes echo the shift from the control of bodies, to the control of desires.

I want to acknowledge artistic responses to ecological concerns, which assume that people are evil but that it is ok and can lead to fun results. Having fun is made hard. Life is often portrayed as a survival story. I, for one, have been bombarded by depictions of global catastrophes since childhood. When I close my eyes I can visualize the color schemes of movies, where the survival of the human race is dependent of the resilience of special individuals. Dealing with this imagery and the trauma it caused, is what I’m after when identifying as a recovering survivalist.

Those kind of survival stories are centered on character arcs but what supports the arc is the actuality that everyone else is dead. Those movies and that art I made, are not a celebration of the resourcefulness of man, they are enjoyment over the succulent presence of death. Dead is the only thing a resourceful man is not. It is the landscape which offers contrast to their shape.

These depictions and all representations of human resourcefulness are fantasise of a grand reboot. They enforce the idea that a singular moment in time, the moment of innovation, could work as a fixed point in which the fate of the world is in human hands. A space rocket launch is good illustration of this dream. As the ship leaves orbit the entirety of earth is left behind, this constitutes everything on the earth as a group. A monumental gesture, pushing a button to launch a ship from earth, enforces the idea that all life is progressing at the same pace and that all life is in contact. But I think life is not necessarily in contact with all-other-life and not-all-life on the planet makes sense.

The spesific kind of environmental collapse we are working hard towards, is presented as a global phenomenon which sets all-life on the same baseline. It gives a rush. But this depiction is a manifestation of a particular and particularly monotheistic mindset. It has aesthetic baggage and assumes what life is like. That it has a shape it should abide. Our efforts towards an environmental collapse is a prayer for life to have a comprehensible shape.

A good example is a recent article on rural cat communities in Finland. (Paheneva kissakriisi… / yle.fi) The article details how escaped cats have formed super-local communities (some groups had 250 cats) and focuses on groups which habit very small areas (one population lived primarily under a bridge). As these communities don’t move, they inbreed, which brings about an array of anomalies. The text depicts a case were inbreeding led to a kitten growing the organs inside out. This is not how life is not supposed to look like, hence their existence is interpreted as suffering – According to the article these rural mutant kitten groups are terminated regularly.

Animals adapt to moder and future-modern habitats and the problems is that when they do, they super-exceed our understanding of what they are and what nature is. #ॐ

Time does not progress at the same pace for all. Some of us live in pockets. An environmental collapse only makes sense if you assume that we are all equally effected by pollutants. We are not. It carries with it a dream that we will all come together in death. We will not. The resourcefulness of the mutant kitten groups is deemed horrifying because it shows the shape of things to come. It’s going to be fun.

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20201117

Enjoying the llllllll forum Orca thread. At first glance the chronological, borderline endless stretch of text appears wastefully organized. Developer notes, memes, old resolved bug reports, feature requests and snippets of code are shared in the same page along with notes on gig venues across the globe. The non-scripting related posts make the thread enjoyable and provide a low-key entrypoint to the Orca/llllllll scene. After reading for a while the thread starts to feel like a space and sets a mood for learning. I’m inadvertently introduced to the history of the program (different development phases), the person who programs it, people who use it and niches of their behavior. As I’m working trough the body of the text to gain elementary skills for working in the Orca environment, I’m simultaneously learning to identity the stylistic quirks of frequent contributors and exposed to the sounds they make.

For learning a new skill I’m relying on some kind of unresolved narrative: Relations I form with abstract usernames and the script fragments they paste to a thread. This being ultimately a textual experience, I notice that I’m involved in a world building process. I’m copying someones script to form an auditive creation only I hear. Working on Norns I use Orca to trigger samples, so the copied scripts produce different sounds to the examples contributors have posted. But the actual sounds are not important for learning. What I’m looking for is the emergence of the same script behavior and patterns of noises they produce. Our patches are similar, they obey the same rules and as I read the thread, and meticulously transcribe the coded text snippets to my screen, we —different users— play and build pattern-islands into the same universe. Below is an example of user neauoire’s condensing of an Allieway_Audio Linear Feedback Shift Register (LFSR) script.

05O..05OS
aV...bV..
..2Kab...
...F.....
..F*.....
7L.......
........0

The anecdotes authors share on the thread (videos on instagram) serve as anchor points for remembering features of the Orca operators. Some notes are autobiographical, such as documentations of live gigs. The patterns I draft on my screen remind me of the anecdotes and link my learning progress to theirs. This reminds me of the endless library Jorge Borges drafted. The abstract script snippets Orca users use for communicating a vibe, are nonsensical literary creations which require a complicated machine to transcribe (which operates on machine code). The feel of the endless library is well described in a recent video The Shape of Infinity (2020) by Jacob Geller.

It is particularly interesting that, in the process of copying fragments of Orca script, the sounds different creators produce from it are different but they appear in the same patterns. They share a structure but produce wildly different musical outcomes.

I don’t think this is the same conundrum as the relationship which musical notations have to the sounds musicians produce from their instruments. When I observe how a script plays a sound, I’m not hearing how a someone interprets notations or how their instrument reacts to the their movement. The complexity of the code can affect the sound source (in my case samples) to such an extent that the potential musicality of a pattern is more a result of the script then the timbres of the sound source. Also, our instruments are identical.

Its the same as with blackmidi stuff, where we are not listening to sounds or melodies, we are listening to complexity and forming opinions on the experience by comparing different performances of complexity. Eventually the complexity will cause glitches, which can make the inner conjures of the computer audible. I’ve heard them appear during a live coding performance by Viktor Toikkanen when his computer was pushed to memory overload territory. The machine cried glitches which felt like grains pushing trough the code.

Edit: In a recent thread on llllllll xmacex investigates peoples interest in sharing Norns parameter or PSET files

Sonically speaking norns PSETs are the specifics of an instrument and specify it’s tonal character. Philosophically speaking norns PSETs are artefacts and representations produced in the intimate interaction of the agential subjecthood of a norns user and the removed presence of the script designer and creator.